Between the Times
by Ginny-Rose95
Summary: Collection of companion one-shots to The Game of Life. Basically 'Behind-The-Scenes' moments from The Game of Life.
1. Chapter 1

Hello all! If you have not read my original story The Game of Life, I suggest you do so first. For anyone else, who has, this is going to be a companions mini-series to it. It's going to feature one-shots about things you never saw in The Game of Life, like Rachel telling Blaine and Kurt, little cheesy times between Rachel leaving Glee and the twins turning fifteen, Finn and Rachel moments in the five year gap, birth of Blaine and Kurt's babies, all that kind of stuff. Anything and everything! I will write a little summary for each individual one up here, so you know which it one it is, okay?

Title: Shocking News

Summary: Rachel's been sick for quite some time and Kurt is getting worried.

Rating: T

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><p>Blaine sat beside Kurt in the Warbler meeting hall, not surprised to see him tapping wildly on his iPhone. Blaine had learned, rather wisely, over the months spent with Kurt, that Kurt was always texting someone, whether it be Mercedes, talking about the latest fashion trends, or Finn demanding to know where Kurt had hidden his Xbox controller; whatever it be, Blaine prided himself in knowing the countertenor's facial expressions. Which is why Kurt's oddly worried expression had him confused. Kurt finally finished his text message and Blaine seized the opportunity.<p>

"Who are you talking to?" Polite, but curious with no hint of pressuring, a perfect question.

"Rachel." Kurt replied, fingers flexing slightly around his phone as he waited for a response. Blaine frowned. It wasn't that he had a problem with Rachel; she and he had actually gotten very close after the whole dating debacle, it was just that Rachel was not much of a texter; she liked to feel 'in tuned' with whoever she was conversing with and even shied away from calling on the telephone, preferring face to face conversations.

"She's at the doctor's." Kurt added before grabbing his phone, fingers flying over the keys. "or was, anyway. She's been sick for a while, puking all the time at school and stuff. It's been going on for almost a month now. I'm trying to get her to tell me what the doctor said but she keeps telling me that she has to tell me – us face… face-to-face." Kurt's voice lifted a little at the end, betraying his determined look of nonchalance. Blaine immediately placed his hand on Kurt's shoulder.

"Hey. Rachel's going to be fine. You know how she can be, refusing to care for herself when competitions are around. She probably has a bad, bad case of the flu or something. She's talking about seeing us face-to-face so the doctor must have released her. She's okay," he added, squeezing Kurt's shoulder. Kurt smiled at him and slipped his iPhone into his pocket as the Warbler counsel filed in, followed by a few stragglers. Blaine pushed the Rachel Problem to the side of his mind as Warbler rehearsal began and Kurt did the same, allowing himself to get lost in the harmonies.

About an hour into practice, however, something practically unheard of in Warbler history (as Wes was quick to point out); a knock had rebounded through the now silent practice room. A few tense, quiet seconds past before Thad gestured frantically for a bit for someone to answer the door before Blaine made his way across the room to do so. He opened the great wooden doors to catch sight of a tear-stained, petite brunette in a short plaid skirt, red sweater, white tights, and red shoes to match.

"Ra-Rachel?" Rachel's lip quivered and Blaine wrapped his arms around her, gesturing to Kurt to get over there to help him. The Warblers stayed silent as Kurt and Blaine made their way back into an empty couch, maneuvering Rachel into it before sitting on either side of her. Blaine took to rubbing soothing circles on her back as Kurt gently wiped the tears off her cheeks and whispered comforting words to her. Several times they both tried to get her to tell them what was wrong, but she just cried harder and they backtracked. Finally Rachel calmed down somewhat, sitting up straighter and gently but firmly pushing Kurt and Blaine's hands away from her. She turned to the counsel, all of which had remained surprisingly silent as soon as the door opened to reveal a distraught girl. She respectfully, stiffly asked if she could borrow Blaine and Kurt for a few moments. The counsel erupted once more.

"Absolutely not! You are probably a spy using your – your womanly wiles to get information from the two!" Thad practically screamed. Blaine, seeing how upset Rachel seemed to be at the accusation, made a mental note to pay David to slip itching powder into Thad's underwear again.

"I can assure you," Kurt began, the icy tone in his voice causing the room to go silent again, "That Rachel is not a spy, and would never be a spy. I can also assure you that if she were, her 'womanly wiles' as you so aptly put it, would not work on either me or Blaine, as we are both gay." Thad colored and made to argue. Blaine chose to intervene.

"Pardon my intrusion, counsel, but Rachel is a close friend of Kurt and I, and as she just came from a doctor's appointment and is in tears, I really do insist you grant us this impromptu break to converse with her." He ignored the suddenly sympathetic looks he, Kurt, and especially Rachel were now getting. Wes nodded.

"I'll ant you this impromptu break Junior Warblers Kurt and Blaine. My condolences to whatever is wrong, Guest Rachel." Rachel nodded her head slightly before grasping Kurt's outstretched hand and allowed herself to be gently led out of the room. Kurt waited for the door to close before asking Rachel what was wrong. Rachel started sobbing again and Kurt ferociously hugged her, looking close to tears as well. Blaine joined the hug, wrapping an arm around Rachel's waist and the other, Kurt's.

"i-I don't know who to talk to and I-I'm so scared! D-Dad and D-Daddy know but no one else does and I d-don't know what I'm going to do a-and every – everyone's going to h-hate me and Q-Quinn's going to k-kill me and it's g-going to r-ruin Finn's life and I-I can't a-allow that to happen so I h-have to leave b-but I d-don't want to!" Kurt and Blaine didn't let go as Rachel cried her heart out into their chests, darkening their uniforms.

"Rachel," Kurt intoned gently, rubbing circles into her back and ignoring the fluttery feeling his stomach the warmth from Blaine caused. He needed to concentrate on Rachel. "You need to tell us what's wrong, preferably clearer than before." Rachel locked eyes with him.

"I'm p-pregnant, Kurt. Finn's the d-daddy. We- we _s-spent _the night t-together the day b-before Santana t-told me they'd d-done so last year. I t-told my dads and t-they are really s-supportive and scheduled this a-appointment for me. I found out they are t-twins today and I j-just couldn't - couldn't _not_ tell anyone. I-I thought about t-telling 'Cedes but then you t-texted me and I c-came here i-instead." Kurt stared momentarily.

"That _so_ explains how made you were when you found out Finn lied." He said finally. Rachel was silent for a moment before breaking out in laughter which Kurt tentatively joined in on. Blaine didn't quite understand what was so funny about the statement but seeing Rachel's tear-stained face glowing with laughter still caused him to crack a smile. He didn't know what was in store for the three in years to come, but at that moment he was ready to take the world on for Rachel. And his honorary nieces and or nephews.

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><p>So, hello again, I know it's kind of weird to have two of these things in the same 'chapter' but this are both equally important. Well, okay the one up there *pretend this is an arrow pointing to the very top of this* was important and this is just shameless pandering for reviews. That and if you have any special requests for a certain thing you were curious about or just wanted to read, or whatever, just tell me and I will do so. ALSO I still might do a sequel featuring the *fake drum roll* drama with Beth, the mini-glee kids, and the future Baby-Hudson (or Hudsons, you never know) but for now I don't really want to make the large commitment to an all new multi-chapter story, so for now make do with one-shots, yes? Until next time! Updating methods still apply (between next day and one week from last update, if I'm lazy).<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Hello All! This is (obviously) the second story!

Title: Welcome

Summary: Kurt and Blaine surprise Rachel with a visit.

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><p>Rachel sat pristinely on the floor of her family's living room, carefully sorting through the giant pile of baby clothes in front of her, one hand gently resting on her protruding belly she was now going on her ninth month of pregnancy and because of this, her fathers had made her go on temporary independent study until the babies were born. Hence, spending her day going through the extensive amount of clothing Kurt and Blaine had been sending her. They still had a week of summer vacation down in Lima and were spending it on 'team bonding' with the Glee club, which, as it didn't include Mr. Schuester, was layman's terms for spending the next week completely wasted; as well as little contact with her closest friends.

The phone rang, granting her an excuse to move freely without someone reprimanding her for it. Since Rachel was of such small stature and carrying twins the doctors had all agreed that she was not to have any exertive movement; this had translated to 'she can't do practically anything' for her fathers and Kurt. She made her way to the phone and picked it up on the third ring.

"What are you wearing?" Kurt's voice filtered through the line. Rachel raised an eyebrow; it wasn't that this was an odd question from Kurt; he asked the same question to her every time they were going somewhere together so they wouldn't 'clash', but why he had asked when he was supposed to be in Lima, Ohio partaking in illegal drinking with the rest of the Glee club and henceforth had no business asking her said question. "Wait, don't tell me," Kurt continued and she could hear slightly muffled male laughter that just might have been Blaine's. "That gorgeous dark green just above your knee maternity dress that accentuates your figure paired with your characteristic black tights and no shoes?" Rachel looked down, shocked.

"How – how on _Earth _did you know that?" This time laughter erupted unbridled from the other end and Rachel knew for certain that Blaine was with Kurt.

"You left the window's curtains open." Rachel turned to stare out the bay windows across the living room. True to word, the curtains around them were drawn to the sides, leaving the Berrys' living room viewable from the street. Kurt stood in their lawn, iPhone pressed up to his ear, a smirk lighting up his features. Blaine stood a few inches from him, respectively staying on the pathway. Rachel smiled widely, hung up the phone, ran through the living room, into the hallway lined with photos of her, before finally reaching the foyer and throwing the door open. Blaine, who had been closer, ran up to her, hugging her so hard that her feet left the ground by a few inches. A thump against the two indicated that Kurt had joined the hug.

Laughing, Rachel untangled herself from the other two and let them through into house. Her fathers had taught her to be a courteous host, so she made her way into the kitchen to pour them drinks. Kurt had offered to help her, arguing that with how far along she was she shouldn't be wasting her energy on something so trivial. She argued right back saying she was an able-bodied young woman with pride and for him to sit his butt down or she was going to buy her children all cloths with giant printed animals on them until they were old enough to leave home. He smartly sat down beside a Blaine who was trying really hard not to laugh.

They amused themselves by going through the horribly large pile of baby clothes strewed all about the floor until Rachel waddled into the living room, lemonades and white chocolate chip chocolate cookies in tow. Blaine immediately went for the cookies, hastily thanking her before biting off half of one and devouring it. He pointedly ignored Kurt's exasperated look and Rachel's amused smile in favor of another cookie. Normally, he would have been more polite, but white chocolate was a weakness for him ever since Kurt made him his mother's the week of Nationals when they had been rooting like crazy for New Directions. He both rejoiced in and abhorred the fact that Kurt had given Rachel the recipe.

"Now that Blaine has finished stuffing his face with empty calories," Kurt teased as Blaine finished his third cookie before finally taking a sip of his lemonade. Blaine blushed a little and Rachel laughed. "I want to catch up on everything." He eyed Rachel in a way that told her to begin.

"Well, Dad and Daddy pulled me out on independent study until Baby One and Baby Two are born," she inwardly smirked at the disappointed look Kurt wore. She had decided to keep the babies' names secret until they were born, a fact that irked Kurt to no end. "So I haven't really done anything major. Some friends of mine came down yesterday and 'kidnapped' me. They took me to see _Wicked _but that's the most exciting thi9ng that's happened lately, sadly enough." She shrugged.

"That's perfectly fine, after all, many doctors say that this far along a woman shouldn't have too much excitement, it could lead to early labor." Rachel could tell he had some juicy gossip to tell her as he was almost bouncing where he sat and she hadn't seen his eyes gleam like they were since he told her Blaine had kissed him. She laughed and told him to spit it out before she died of curiosity. Kurt merely told her that was impossible before telling her, "Finn broke off with Quinn. He told everyone that he still loved you and letting you go because of his 'stupid wounded' pride was a huge mistake." Rachel's eyes were wide and disbelieving. "I know you won't go back, in fact I think that right now it would be an unintelligent move, but I want you to know he said that. He said he still does and always will, love you." Rachel's face was pale and Kurt knew something was wrong. Telling her Finn still loved her wouldn't have had that effect.

"Rachel? Rachel! What's wrong?" Blaine's worried voice broke the short silence.

"My – my water just broke." Her deadpan would give Quinn's a run for its money. Kurt and Blaine's total freak out gave New Directions' one too.

Blaine and Kurt paced the floor, ignoring the amused looks of the people around them. Rachel had wanted no one in her birthing room; she didn't want anyone to see her in such a condition. Kurt, remembering how Quinn had looked during Beth's birth, readily agreed at the time. Now, however, with Mr. and Mr. Berry stuck in Tennessee until the trial they were working on and Rachel now in the heavy part of the labor, Kurt was wishing he could somehow have more information.

"Anything new?" Blaine asked as soon as the nurse walked back in. She smiled in response and told them that Rachel had given birth to two healthy children, the boy first, and then the girl. Blaine smiled and held Kurt's hand as they followed the nurse into the hallway, down several rooms, some closed and others opened up to see the same room mirrored back with different people. They stopped on the fourth one, and the nurse opened the door. Sounds came through, babies whimpered, machines beeped, and the low lull of conversing people fell from the room and the nurse gestured them inside, another gentle smile ghosting her lips.

Kurt and Blaine stepped in and immediately made their way to the bed in the middle. Rachel's hair had been hastily tied back, but it was still knotted a little, her skin was flushed dark pink, light beads of sweat still making it down her forehead. Her brown eyes were tired, nearly closed but she managed a small, tired smile at the two. Kurt gently pulled the tie out of her hair and ran his hand through it as Blaine gently took her hand.

"They're beautiful." She told them, the small widening slightly. From the slight tilt in her voice, Kurt knew she was slightly out of it from the pain medicine but he let her talk. "The doctor let me hold them before doing the weighing and-"she paused to yawn, "such. They've already told me they are perfectly healthy. I just need to sign the birth certificates and do the names. Then they will go off into nursery while I try –"another yawn, "to sleep. Has Dad and Daddy showed up yet?" Blaine shook his head and told her the last time they had heard from them they had trying to get the earliest flight to New York that was possible.

"Miss Berry?" a nurse came, holding a clipboard and a pen poised for writing. "I need the children's names now." Rachel nodded and made to sit up somewhat, Blaine and Kurt immediately helping her.

"The boy's name," Rachel started when she was sitting upright, holding both Kurt and Blaine's hand as she did so, "will be Blaine Christopher," Blaine looked at her with wide eyes as Rachel calmly spelt out the name for the nurse to jot down. "And the girl is Hermione Nataline." It was Kurt's turn for surprise as she spelt out the name, a small smirk now on her lips.

"What?" the boys turned to the tired girl almost as soon as the nurse walked away, turning to stare at Rachel.

"My family has long standing tradition of giving one child, typically the girl, a Greek name, and then naming the children after godparents, or in the absence of, family. I named my boy Blaine because of his godfather, and Christopher for –"she paused and looked down, "for his father. He deserves that at least. Hermione for my family, and Nataline for her godfather's mother." She smiled.

"Rachel…" Kurt whispered quietly, staring down at the suddenly tiny girl. Rachel smiled again and squeezed his hand.

"I want my children to know they were born into a large family. Obviously your mother was extremely important to you, and I know you love the name, so I took that as yours. Blaine, you never really talked about the family, so I named him after you specifically. As for Christopher, Finn told me when we were dating, that he always wanted to name his son that, after his own father. Little B will probably never meet him, but I want, I want him to have something of his. Something that will connect the two, even if it's just a name." Blaine squeezed her hand before dropping it.'

"Little B, that sounds cool." He smiled brightly at her and wrapped his arm around Kurt's waist, pulling the boy close to him. "You get some sleep Rae, me and Kurt here are going to go visit B and Hermione." Rachel smiled and nodded, curling back into the bed.

"Oh!" Kurt stopped by the door and flashed Rachel a smile. "I'm calling the girl Natalie!" Rachel laughed in response and curled back into the warmth of the bed, thoughts on her beautiful children lulling her into a comforting sleep.

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><p>Hello everyone! Hope you enjoyed it, please review, et cetera. If you have any special requests, please tell me and I will write it up! Until next time!<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Anger Management

Summary: Blaine's been having a bad week, some insensitive comments from a homophobic football player may just snap him.

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><p>Blaine Berry prided himself in being a mellow person, really. Sure he was pretty big for his age, towering over his mother and sister and at 6'0 a good amount of inches above Uncle Kurt and Uncle Blaine. He even gave his grandfather Leroy a run for his money and he was muscular as well, years of playing football given him that, but he was never quick to anger, always kept his cool and tried to settle conflicts with calm conversation rather than violence. So how he had gotten in his current position, face stinging from another boy's fist, his own repeatedly thrusting into the other kid's in retaliation, girls screaming and people trying in vain to pull him off, he didn't quite know.<p>

He had been having a rather off week, which might have been the cause of him snapping; his star quarterback position had been taken from him as 'he was not as dedicated as other members of the team' which basically meant he didn't like him to be in the choir, he had gotten a B- on his math test, which lowered his grade, his iPod had glitched leaving him with no music; anything bad that could happen happened.

The day itself was particularly bad; he had woken up late, his sister jumping up and down, already fully dressed for school. His mother had playfully scolded him when he had to go back for his homework he had left in the living room and then again for his keys. Uncle Blaine had texted him in the middle of his extremely important test just to say 'hello', he had been late for English and gotten detention for the rest of the week, in Choir practice he had missed a note which never happened. He was on his way out of the rehearsal room, late for football practice because the coach had wanted a word about his recently bad demeanor, when it happened. The final straw.

David Wold, the annoying slightly heavy set sophomore that had replaced as quarterback was walking down the hall way, purposely bumping him with his shoulders and sending him into the lockers. This was actually typical behavior of Wold, when it came to people he deemed 'less-popular', but rarely to another football player, especially not one like Blaine Berry, he was practically legend at the school. The hallway went silent as Blaine got up, glaring viciously at Wold.

"What the hell is your damn problem, Wold?" He practically growled, stepping close to the shorter but broader man. Wold smirked in response.

"I'm sorry Berry; I didn't see you prancing down the hall there. What were you coming late from your frolicking lessons?" Wold laughed at his own joke, and some other people joined in nervously. Blaine's fist clenched.

"Don't fucking push me Wold, I'm not in the goddamned mood," he practically growled, stepping close again to the man, an inch or so away from his face. The smirk fell from Wold's face and he growled.

"Sorry I forgot you've got so many _fags _in your family you don't know the difference between the filth and the actual good, moral people. Your mom's the daughter of fags and your uncles or whatever the fuck they are fags too. What's that make you Berry, gonna follow your family's history and start sucking dick? Or maybe your little sister's gotta taste for girl? Always knew there was something weird about her, she's probably taking peaks of the girls in the locker room!" His laugh was cut short by Blaine's fist colliding with his face; blood spurted from his nose and he tackled Blaine. People backed away as they rolled on the floor, fists colliding. Blaine felt a stinging, burning sensation on the left side of his face where Wold's had collided a moment before. He retaliated by viciously banging Wold's arm against the locker, hearing a sickening noise that shouldn't come from an arm.

Girls screamed loudly as the fight escalated, neither man lightening up, blood spots smearing on the floor, Blaine clearly getting the upper hand. He now practically sat on Wold, punching every inch of the man who valiantly tried to get him off. He felt hands, large and none to gentle try to lift him off the boy but he fought them, punching more and more of the man beneath him.

"Blaine! Blaine, that's enough!" Dimly he recognized the voice as that of his Biology teacher, an older man who spent the majority of his lessons rambling about his past. The shock of the white haired man trying to break up the fight was enough to make him loose his hold on the boy. Hands roughly lifted him up and separated him from Wold whom the Chemistry teacher picked up.

"To the nurse with you, Berry did a number on you boy," the chemistry teacher's rough voice called out. He was a heavy-set, muscular with a bald head. He was an ex-marine who had seen the darkest parts of the world; Blaine, being a total nerd like his uncle, often referred to him as Moody, which had surprisingly gotten him along with the older man. That and he didn't really like the spoiled brat that was Wold, left him to not so gently rub his hand across the arm Blaine slammed earlier. The boy cringed and made to move away, "Broken arm too, damn." He shot Blaine a praising look before ducking back and dragging Wold down the hallway to the nurse.

"You need to go? Your face doesn't look to hot,"

"Thanks," Blaine said sarcastically. It actually did surprise how gentle the biology teacher sounded. The man was a pacifist; abhorred all violence no matter the reason.

"The girl who ran to get us to break up the fight told us how it started. You have a good family Blaine, I'm not about to judge you for defending them in the only way you could think of, no matter my beliefs." Blaine smiled a little but it quickly grimaced as pain shot up the side of his face. The teacher tried to get him to the nurse but he shook it off, saying he was fine. "If you're sure," he shot another look at Blaine, "Then I have to take you straight to the principal's office. I'm pretty sure they've already contacted your mother." Blaine gulped and nodded, following the teacher out of the hallway and into the school office.

Waiting for his mother to come from work was possibly the worst experience he had ever had in school. The principal was a quiet, short, and stocky man who tolerated no nonsense. He completely ignored Blaine after the initial 'have a seat; your mother will be here shortly to discuss this' conversation. Since then, Blaine had quietly passed the time watching the dumpy old man; he had several calls, one that might have pertained to Wold as it came from the nurse, one apparently about a criminally truant child, and another that was personal enough to make Blaine blush and turn away. He didn't know or want to know that the secretary in the front office and the principal were dating. Finally, the secretary (whom apparently liked to be called pookie in private) came in and announced his mother.

Rachel Berry was pretty much the same as she had been in high school, still tiny, still with dark brown hair and matching eyes, still beautiful, and still with a terrifying temper. Right now, Blaine didn't know for sure how much of the anger was directed specifically at him or just the situation in general. She sat beside him without being told and waited patiently, hands folded in her lap, for the principal to speak.

"Miss Berry, I am so glad you could make it." He started out, "I'm sorry we have to meet on such… unfortunate circumstances." Blaine made a face, mocking the principal; Rachel smacked him softly underneath the desk. "Blaine has normally proven to be such a marvelous student in the past that it pains me to have to do this-"Rachel's eyes narrowed.

"Do what exactly, Mr. Roberts?"

"School protocol demands that the penalty for anyone to start a fight is to be suspended from three days to one week, and because of the brutality of the fight, I have opted for one week. Now, when such disciplinary problems arise, it is up to the head of the extracurricular activities the child is in to decide. The choir teacher has agreed to keep him on but the football coach, as the fight was with another player, and the star quarterback at that, has decided to let him go." The principal didn't like the light that was shining in Miss Berry's eyes.

"I don't think I quite understand. From what I have been told the other boy in question, David Wold, had been provoking my son by using horrid slurs about our family. You have a zero bullying policy at this school, do you not?" she paused for the principal to nod, slightly dazed. "I'm fairly certain that falls under bullying. Not to mention that the boy reportedly shoved my son into a locker, hence forth starting the physical part of the altercation."

"Yes, but Blaine continued the assault passed the point of self-defense, henceforth the punishment." The principal was quick to try to bring the conversation back onto his side of reasoning.

"Alright then, what is the other boy's punishment?" Rachel asked calmly, hands still folded on her lap, face a calm façade. Blaine tried hard not to laugh.

"Pardon me?" The principal asked politely, not quite understanding her question. Rachel repeated herself calmly. "I understood what you said, madam, but why. David was the victim in this altercation. He is in the nurse's office with his parents. His arm is fractured from when Blaine slammed it against the locker and the nurse is worried about a concussion. Your son here left the incident with but a few bruises." Rachel's eyes narrowed.

"So you are telling me that a boy can get away with slamming my child into lockers, insulting his family by using slurs against their sexual orientations, insinuating his in an insulting way, and stating horrible accusations against his sister, and get away Scott free because he received more injuries?"

"I don't think you quite understand. Blaine caused our star quarterback the season!" the principal finally exploded. "He broke his arm and possibly gave him a concussion! I will not back track my decision!" He sat back down, breathing loudly. Rachel smiled blithely and stood, gesturing for Blaine to follow her.

"You've clearly made your decision, and thank you for helping me make mine." She smiled once more and ignored the questions the confused principal shot at her as she walked out of his office. Blaine tried repeatedly to get his mother's attention but she paid him no mind as she signed him and Natalie out at the front desk nor when they waited for Natalie.

It was only when they had gotten in the car that Blaine found anything; Rachel told them she was taking them out for a special dinner to celebrate Blaine finally knocking the crap out of a bully who totally deserved it. Blaine and Natalie had first been surprised, shell-shocked at how their prime and proper mother was talking, and then laughing when they realized how serious she was. Their mother had just won serious points with the two. Rachel was merely reminded of the wonderful man her son was so similar too.

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><p>So, this was a one-shot about the fight I mentioned in Chapter Two of The Game of Life (it was one of the things that caused Rachel to consider going back to Lima), I really couldn't think of anything so I wrote this. Tell me what you thought, if you have (any more) suggestions, I already got one about the Glee Club after Rachel left, like Quinn and Puck getting together and such so that will probably be next, but anymore please say so. Until next time!<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

I'm really sorry for the long wait, but this was a whole story and has a grand total of (content only) 11,892 words, which for my stories, is a lot. I tried really hard to get down as soon as possible and I did work on it every day and I am quite proud of it, so I hope you enjoy it!

Title: Scars

Summary: We all have scars, some are just harder to hide. Then there are the kind that destroy you, that carve so deeply no one can repair them. Those kind were their scars.

WARNINGS: Non graphic descriptions of child abuse (physical and emotional) alcohol and drug abuse and use of adult language.

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><p>Quinn knew the day was coming; she could feel it in the air that surrounded them. Finn was distancing himself from her, had been since Rachel had left. To say she was surprised would have been a lie; despite what she had told Rachel she hadn't expected Finn to be hers forever, didn't really even want him to, she just needed him long enough to win prom queen. Sure that made her sound like a bitch, but that was life. Still, after Rachel left (the only competition for him) she was slightly shaken at their conversation.<p>

"Why, Finn?" she legitimately was saddened; she did care for Finn, even if it wasn't love that she felt. "What is this about?" she tried not to sound angry, but it filtered through and Finn avoided her gaze, hands clenching into fists. He hated this; hated breaking up with girls, Quinn was especially difficult.

"Because I never wanted to be with you again Quinn. I only did it to hurt Rachel and she's gone now." The bitterness in his voice spoke of the guilt he felt of being without her. Quinn felt slapped in the face. She could see how guilty Finn looked, and maybe a part of her understood it, the pain he wanted to cause, but that part was miniscule compared to the anger and hurt she felt on the other part. So she slapped him across the face, and left him in the hallway to stare blindly, slightly more than shocked.

Quinn was pissed. Sure, she might have been using Finn too, but not to get back an ex she still felt for. Quinn had legitimately cared about the relationship and to hear Finn talk about using her to get back at Rachel as calmly as the weather made tears sprout in her eyes. She was sick of this; of boys treating her like less than human. A part of her, the self-loathing part that had appeared after joining the Cheerios and hearing Sue Sylvester tell her at least fifty times of all of her immense faults, told her she deserved it.

She did, she knew that. She knew that a lot of people considered her a heartless bitch; most of the glee club hated her for returning to her 'old self' after her pregnancy, Sam wouldn't even look at her nowadays, and Finn obviously didn't care for her. She felt like she was drowning, everything coming down upon her in a cesspool of revenge. She was human, she was allowed mistakes. But why every single one seemed to glare down at her as if she was trash, she didn't know.

That day, Quinn walked by people she knew; people that had once cared for her, tears streaming down from her bright eyes. Several cheerios who had once been friends sneered at her, pushing into her with their shoulders, football players jeered at her, she distinctly heard 'whore' shouted several times, even Mercedes and Tina, two of her friends of Glee, passed her with nary a look. The final straw though, was Mr. Schuester. He was walking out of his classroom, a stack of Spanish papers at hand, when he blindly walked into her. He apologized, setting her upright before walking away.

He could see her tears, Quinn knew from the guilty, lingering look he gave her before excusing himself, and said not a word. The one man who had helped her so much last year, the one who had almost been the surrogate father to her bastard child, and had been the closest thing to a father figure to her, had found Spanish papers more important than the tears that fell down her face; Quinn felt horrible.

She skipped the rest of the day, turning from the Spanish classroom and battling her way back through the hallway, making her way outside and into the parking lot. Her small car her father had bought her as an 'apology' for last year sitting in the usual parking lot. As soon as Beth had been legally adopted by Shelby Corcoran, her father was back, asking for forgiveness. Considering how weak her mother was, her father was back in the house within a month. The only thing that kept her from trashing the car was the need of transportation; she refused to take the bus.

Non to surprising, no one appeared to be home when she arrived. Her mother didn't work but it was past twelve now, which meant she was probably most of the way through her fourth drink at the bar, or maybe hooking up with someone half her age, Quinn neither knew nor cared. She parked her car in the driveway, grabbed her bag and stormed her way into the house. Tears had kept falling despite all attempts to stop them; she didn't even know what she was crying for anymore.

She hadn't really cared for Finn in a romantic way, so why did it matter that he didn't either? Was she even crying for that? She didn't think so. Quinn was crying for something else, for lost hope and long ago romances. Finn's hurtful words reminded her of her last year; when she had told Puck she would never claim him as the father. For leaving him almost as soon as the baby was gone.

Quinn slipped into her room, ignoring the drunken giggles coming from her parents' room; her mother indeed was enjoying the company of someone. She missed Puck, deeply; letting him go was the biggest mistake of her life. She knew what the school thought; that Puck left her as soon as the baby was gone. The equally popular theory that she had kicked him to the curb as soon as the baby was adopted wasn't exactly true either.

The truth was, she had left him afterwards, but it wasn't for the reasons everyone (including Puck) thought. When her father came back and found out who the father of her child really was and heard that his 'baby girl' (Quinn resisted the urge to tell him he lost the right to call her that) was still planning on seeing him, he had a fit. He stormed around, yelling that Quinn was ruining her life and his reputation. He got violent, something he did when he had too much alcohol, and told her if she didn't break it off, she wasn't going to like what was going to happen.

She was a coward, and the next day she explained to a heart-broken Puck that it was over, trying and just barely succeeding to not cry herself. He had stormed at her, and then begged for her; telling her he would change, just as long as she stayed. She tried to remain strong as she told him it wasn't about him, that she had merely wanted time to herself, without a boyfriend. She knew he didn't believe it, but he kept to his word, and didn't engage in anything with her. The fact he gave up so easy further engraved the idea that Quinn was useless.

The giggles next door suddenly stopped as the door slammed open. She heard shuffling sounds from the room next door that indicated a quickly fleeing somebody. Minutes later, she heard the stomping feet of her father, home early and probably just as fucked up as her mother currently was. A few seconds after that, the yelling started. Quinn wished she could just tune it all out, the hurtful words her father was flinging at her mother; wished it would all disappear as her father called her mother a dirty whore and her mother yelled back that he wasn't much better.

The indistinguishable sound of flesh hitting flesh made her wince. Her father was hitting her mother, again. Despite all verbal contradictions her mother made, it was happening more often. Quinn sometimes feared she would come home one day to one of her parents dead, either her mother beaten to death or her father shot in the head. The fact that her mother stayed, time and time again, was not good influence on Quinn; she no longer trusted men. That's what made it so easy, to cheat on Finn with Puck, and then again on Sam with Finn; to hurt them before they hurt her. To yell at them, so they couldn't get a word in, or maybe so they yelled back. Prove to her that they weren't worth it.

Finn, when he punched the lights out of Puck, and then screamed at her, asking her if it was true, proved it. She had been so frightened that he was going to hit her in that moment that she promised herself she would never again be in a serious relationship with him. Sam did so too, when he broke up with her, looking at her with a look of pure hatred mixed in with a little bit of disappointment, like he expected more of someone like her. It had reminded her so much of her father, a man she had grown to hate more and more as the bruises became harder to hide.

The only man she had ever been in a relationship with who hadn't made her feel like that, like she was worthless and deserved nothing less than a kick in the stomach, was Puck. He had stuck by her at her worst, staying beside her; trying to help even when she refused him any part of his child's life, being beside her every step of the way, letting her give Beth up for adoption even though he had wanted desperately to keep her. He had loved her, and now he was gone. Because of her, because she was a stupid coward who couldn't even stand up to the over-grown bully that was her father.

The sounds stopped and for a moment peaceful silence was heard throughout the household, before her mother's sobs became legible and the sound of footsteps became louder. Her door was opened in a moment, revealing her irate and obviously drunk father. He demanded to know why the hell she wasn't at school, she lied and told him she hadn't been feeling well and she didn't want to bother him at work. He still slapped her, telling her she should've called anyway and calling her a disgrace for not being able to handle a single school day when Frannie, their oldest, had graduated college as valedictorian.

Quinn fought the urge to mention the fact that Frannie had come home once since he had come back, seen the state of her family, and had never once even bothered to contact them again. She had merely disappeared, leaving Quinn to deal with this horrid mess. Quinn knew Frannie thought it was her fault, that if she hadn't given it up to some punk at her school her parents would be okay, that mommy and daddy wouldn't be drinking; Quinn probably would have to if she hadn't been living there over the years as the marriage disintegrated and both their parents fell into alcohol abuse and her father resort to violence slowly, he had been hitting them, off and on, long before her pregnancy.

Quinn was sick of it, sick of the stinging feeling from her face that stayed long after her father had vacated her room, sick of the way her still sobbing mother hastily answered her husband's screams for her to come down and fix him something to eat, sick of the impending apology that would come in the morning from her hung over father no doubt from his 'overreaction' that would be followed by a half-assed speech about him getting help and how during the process she should try being better behaved than she was. That she shouldn't keep pushing him as he was at a difficult time. Because, no matter how hard he hit her, no matter the size of the bruises he'd left, it was always her fault somehow.

Quinn left that night, slipped out the door with her keys in hand, fresh layer of cover-up already pasted on her new bruise. She went to the only place that had ever made her feel welcome. She knew eventually, probably later that same night, she would be back home. Back to the place that made her life a waking nightmare, but for now, now she wanted to feel welcomed, to feel loved in a way she hadn't for quite a while.

* * *

><p>Puck noticed her, all of her the tears that fell from her cheeks as she stormed down the hallway and into the parking lot included, but he didn't stop her. He didn't know why he didn't, he'd already heard that Finn had broken it off with her and why too. The fact that he'd wanted to hurt Rachel, someone he'd considered a sister, and used Quinn, someone he very much still loved, made him want to punch him in the face. So why he didn't stop her, even though he probably could have cheered her up, he didn't know.<p>

Puck, despite popular belief, actually broke it off with Lauren. She had been true to character, as to say, perfectly okay with it under a few conditions; he bought her dinner at Breadstix for her and her new boyfriend, a fellow wrestler, and agreed to let her tell everyone she left him. He didn't quite mind, as it got him quite a few pity make-outs from some pretty hot girls. Not the one he wanted, but still, pretty nice.

He himself ended up leaving early, ditching the last period of the day in favor of picking his little sister up from her school. He still called it ditching even though his mother had called ahead and the school excused it as family business, simply because it sounded more bad ass, and he didn't want to lose face in front of the guys, high school was a jungle, he simply preferred to be the lion rather than the monkey; or some shit like that anyway; he was never very good at personification or metaphors or whatever the hell they were called.

He had been listening to his favorite CD, singing along to the songs (although if asked about it, he would absolutely deny it) when She Will Be Loved by Maroon 5 came on. He didn't know why, but thoughts of Quinn invaded his mind again. He didn't know why thoughts of her kept crouching up, he normally made a point to not think of her, but she had seemed miserable lately, dating Finn aside. He thought back on their break-up and felt the normal frustration that typically followed it. He knew something else had been going on, that Quinn didn't just want 'alone time' the tears that had been threatening to fall from those hazel eyes told him as much.

Which meant the real reason was still out there and a part of Puck was determined to find it. However, another part was more hesitant. Just how did he even want to go with Quinn, given the chance? She had been the only girl he had been serious about, accidental baby aside. He had even fantasized of marrying her before. But he remembered, as his little sister hopped into the passenger seat, excitedly telling him about her day as he grumbled to her to put on her seat belt, his mother would simply be heart-broken if he married anyone beside a Jewish woman. Even if it were Quinn, whom besides the pregnancy his mother had taken to her, he doubted his mother would be so thrilled at the idea.

Family had always been the most important thing to him, ever since his father had walked out of the family when he was seven, leaving his mother as a single, unemployed mother in charge of two children. For a while his mother had gotten pretty serious with a man who had proved to be even worse than his biological father. For as much as Puck remembered, despite being a deadbeat who left them, his father had been an okay guy; he wasn't too hard on the alcohol, he didn't do drugs; he'd simply had it one day of the constant chaos and fighting his home had become and didn't come back after work.

No, Puck remembered as he excused himself from his talkative little sister and made his way into his little bedroom on the end of the house, it wasn't his father who had taught him all his bad habits, but the man who had come after. Desperate for money, his mother had turned to the first man who had come their way and offered. He had been a relatively wealthy man and for a while everything was good; he'd taught Puck had to throw a football correctly and bought his sister the doll she'd wanted for forever, but all that changed one day.

Puck jumped on his bed, grabbing a football and throwing it at the ceiling repeatedly, always catching it before it could fall out of reach, as he lost himself in memories. His surrogate father had come home one day, Puck had been about eight, ranting and yelling at his mother for something; that was the first day Puck had gotten a whiff of alcohol, he hadn't been impressed. Puck remembered watching for the first time, his mother get beaten for not having dinner ready in time. It had been the first time he had seen such violence and years later it still churned his stomach.

His mother had to wear sunglasses for a week after that as well as enough make-up that when he'd kiss her some of the cover-up would be stuck on his lips. His stepfather had been apologetic, bringing his mother a fresh bouquet of roses and an apology. His mother accepted him back in and for a while, a month or so; they were able to put the whole affair behind them.

That was about when his stepfather lost his job; after that it was a long dark spiral. First came the drinking, he would come home drunk every day, even when he told Puck's mother he was going to look for a new job, after that the beatings started, his mother's first, bruises became a common accent to his mother's features, then his; he had never felt anything worse in his life then the day his step-father broke his leg pushing him into the dresser. His sister was spared because of how young she was, but Puck remembered many nights that he had to hold his crying three year old sister as their mother's screams echoed throughout the house.

The drugs came last. Puck had come home from school to see his stepfather shooting up with an unsterilized needle, paid hooker by his side, laughing along as she showed him the proper way to do so. Puck had slipped quietly passed and luckily they hadn't noticed him. This had been the final straw for his mother; she wasn't going to deal with a drug user in her household, especially with the fact that he was using her children's support checks to do so. He remembered being woken up in the middle of the night by his mother, his little sister softly tucked in her arm. They had filed past his stepfather, so drugged up he had passed out in the living room, and piled in his uncle's truck. They had left with two suitcases filled with belongings.

His uncle settled them in a little town called Lima, far enough away that they were sure his stepfather could never find them, and made a new life for themselves. He made new friends and they settled down, his mother finding a job fairly quickly. His mother was scarred though, and kept such a close chain on Puck that when middle school came, he was quick to rebel. He remembered the first time he'd come home from a party, drunk out of his mind, to his mother waiting for him in the living room.

She had cried for hours about how he worried her, how he was turning out just like _that_ man. He had known exactly who she was talking about and it sickened him that he had fallen from his mother's graces so much. He still drank, but he always made sure to call his mother and not do anything more. His mother had come to accept it and had apologized for saying that to him. The memories stayed with him though, and fear of becoming his stepfather made him come to one resolve.

He would never fall in love or settle with one girl. That way, he could never become the violent monster his stepfather had been, that way he would never become the man he watched destroy a family, that way he would never raise a hand to a woman or an innocent child because he was too fucked up on drugs and alcohol to realize what he was doing. He would never become his mother's nightmare.

His resolve had held for a while, all the way until sophomore year. Then Quinn Fabray came into his life; he had to admit, he had always been attracted to her, she was hot, but when his best friend began to date her, he saw her in a different light; she was sarcastic in a funny way, smart in a good way, and not as insane as other girls in high school. He felt attracted to her in ways no other woman had made him feel.

He regretted getting her pregnant, for destroying her life and ruining his friendship with Finn, but even after all the drama, he couldn't regret their relationship. Not the one night stand that had started it all, although he surely wasn't going to complain about that, but the one that came after, when the word had gotten out and Quinn began to live with him. They had fought, sure, they were polar opposites so that much was a give-in, but he had been happy, and so had she.

That's why her breaking up with him had hit him so hard. All the years of breaking people's hearts, it had finally happened to him and it had hurt, a lot. Not the breaking up per say, but the fact that she had no reason for him, just a half-hearted excuse he could see right through. The whole thing still hurt each day, especially because he could _see_ she was suffering but she refused to talk about it. So he'd let it go, let her go, and he regretted it; not a day went by that he didn't regret it.

So when his sister screamed for him to come down, at about five thirty; that there was someone here for him, and he walked down the hallway to see Quinn fucking Fabray standing in his doorway, rain soaked from the walk up his drive way, and with red, puffed-up eyes that obviously spoke of recent tears, he saw his chance. His chance to right things with the only woman outside his family he'd ever truly loved and find out what was wrong with her.

As he gestured for her to come in the house and told his sister to go get some of the old clothing that no longer fit their mother for Quinn to wear, he wasn't thinking of his deadbeat father or his bastard stepfather or the things he had promised himself, but of a future, a future that wasn't bleak or bleary, but filled with promise with the only woman outside his family (Rachel Berry included in family) that had ever made him feel that he could be more than a mistake. The only woman who had ever made him feel like he was worth something.

* * *

><p>Quinn didn't tell him what was wrong that night, and Puck didn't push it. Instead, Quinn dressed in his mother's clothing, sat beside him in the living room long after his mother came home (she had been pleasantly shocked to see Quinn back), just talking about their lives. About what had happened to them. Quinn admitted to still having feelings for Puck, which was a step. She didn't necessarily agree to date him or even consider it but when he walked her out to her car for her to leave; she stopped to kiss him on the cheek before getting in her car and driving away. Puck couldn't stop the stupid grin from settling onto his face or it staying there the rest of the night.<p>

The very next day, Quinn gently slipped her hand in his as she met with him by his locker, and he smiled gently down at her. The school talked, the rumors flew, but they paid them no heed. When Glee practice came, their friends congratulated them, including Finn and Quinn felt their anger at them fading somewhat. She was able to admit to herself that it was foolish to think they should have dropped everything for her yesterday to help her.

It turns out a betting pool on when they would get back together had been placed and Artie won the jackpot. Puck had immediately demanded his cut as apparently it was a rule that any bet that included people meant that the aforementioned people got a fifty percent cut. Artie made to fight that accusation, demanding to know when that rule had been placed but a raised eyebrow swiftly made sure that he and Quinn were both now twenty-five dollars richer.

That night at Quinn's house wasn't bad. For once, both her parents were sober, and they ate dinner together like they used to, laughing and joking around like they used to. They praised Quinn on her recent report card, which had been all A's. Her father even went as far as to say that if she kept it up, solitarian or even valedictorian could be a very real accomplishment in her future. No mentions of past mistakes or who was screwing who behind whose back. They even ended the night like they used to: Quinn, her mother, and her father all squeezing together into the loveseat to watch Late Night together. It was peaceful.

The Puckerman house was much like it usually was; they sat down for their weekly viewing of Schindler's List and Puck's sister even managed to watch the majority of it before running screaming. Puck's mother did however, mention Quinn at the end of the movie. Puck braced himself for a berating about not dating a Jewish girl but his mother merely smiled and said she was proud at how happy he was and even hinted that she wouldn't mind too much of Puck ended up marrying her, despite her not being Jewish. He had blushed in response and playfully told his mother to 'stuff it'. The warm feeling that settled in his stomach stayed the rest of the night. It was nice.

They should have known it wouldn't last.

* * *

><p>The good grace that had seemingly fallen over the Fabray house-hold lasted all through the month, and Quinn grew bold again. She would playfully contradict her father without worrying about getting back-handed for cheek. Her sister began to call again and there hadn't been a whiff of alcohol all through the house. Everything was falling back to how it had been and Quinn was happy. She did continue seeing Puck, but she managed to keep him from her parents without directly lying. That is until she got too sloppy.<p>

To be fair, they did have a science project that they had been paired together to work on; it's just that they weren't quite doing that when Quinn's mother walked in. Judy Fabray wasn't a stupid woman, she prided herself in her college degree, so even in her slightly inebriated state (she had caved and bought a drink, or two) she knew quite well that what this boy and her Quinnie were doing on that bed wasn't any high school science project.

So she cleared her throat and watched as the boy jumped from her daughter. With a jolt, she realized who it was; Noah Puckerman, the punk who had gotten her daughter pregnant. It shocked and disgusted her to find that disgusting excuse of a child in her home, let alone kissing her precious daughter. Had he convinced her daughter turn back into sin?

"Get out." She spoke quietly and pointed to the door. The boy Puckerman was quick to obey, shooting a worried look at Quinn who merely shook her head in response. Judy waited until he was gone before turning to her youngest daughter, heart breaking at the scared but defiant look she was getting. "Oh Quinnie," she breathed and took a step before stumbling and catching the end of Quinn's bed to steady herself.

Quinn curled in on herself after that, staring at her mother with a mixture of disbelieve and disgust. "You're drunk." It wasn't an accusation or a question, she simply stated it; a coldness Judy had never before seen in her daughter's eyes settled onto her.

"Not, not really. I just had a quick drink with the girls. It wasn't much, not at all." She seemed trying to convince herself more than Quinn, trying again to stand up, her legs wobbling unsteadily. Quinn scoffed in response.

"You can't even stand up by yourself," she started, helping her mother to stand and sitting her on her bed, handing her a water bottle that sat on her bedside table. Her mother obediently took a sip. "And you expect me to believe you've only had _one_ drink? One pitcher maybe," Quinn folded her arms around her chest, standing in front of her mother, making Judy feel like the child.

"Don't treat me like a child Lucy Quinn! I come home and you were…. were _kissing_ that bastard child of Sarah Puckerman! He got you pregnant Quinnie and didn't even give a damn about it! And you are back with him? What do you want to get pregnant again, so people can continue to call you a dirty slut? Huh? Is that what you want, to be Noah Puckerman's slut? Be a fucking failure again?" Normally Judy Fabray would shy away from such vulgar language, but she was obviously drunk and not quite thinking clearly.

Quinn sputtered for a moment, feeling like she had just been slapped, before rounding off on her mother again. "I'm the failure? I'm not the one who brings men_ half_ her age home to fuck! I'm not the one who stays with a man who drinks and beats her! I'm not the one who can't put down the damn bottle for a month because her life is so shitty it's the only way she can survive the hell-hole that's become it! I'm not _you_ mother, and damn am I glad about it!" Judy's eyes shone with unshed tears at the truthfulness in her daughter's words.

She bit her lip. For once in a great while, Judy had a choice here; she could admit her daughter was right, and they could figure things out between them. She could become the woman she used to be, the woman who had come back briefly when her daughter needed her last year; or she could hide behind the excuse readily provided for her. She could deny any faults, and blame her youngest daughter, once again, for things she hadn't done.

"Don't bring this out on me," Judy glared, making her choice, "wait until your father hears about this. Back with that disgusting wring rat that calls himself human. Your father will be disappointed in you," she made to leave; ignoring the hurt and scared look her daughter shot her. Judy had made her choice, years ago when she married a man who never loved her, to be who she was. If it sealed the fate of her daughter, so be it.

Judy waited for Russell to come home, a bottle of Gin already half empty beside her. The hours that passed had not lessened her resolve to tell him about Quinn's boyfriend. The more she drink, the less guilty about it she felt, convincing herself more and more that she was making the right choice. So, when Russell walked in the house at six thirty, whistling to himself and setting his briefcase down onto the kitchen table Judy made her drunken way towards him.

Russell Fabray thought of himself as any other man; sure he was quick to anger, but he wasn't the only man with a temper and he doubted there was a single married man in the world who could say he had never yelled at his wife. He sometimes hit her and his daughter, but only when he was very drunk and only when either of them had behaved badly. He was just an average man with a slightly above average temper, really.

He also had high standards for his family to follow; that's why even though he was quite sober, he found himself stalking into his daughter's room in a deathly quiet anger. She was sitting on her bed, sandy blonde hair held back by a thin silver colored hair band, bright hazel eyes fixated on the history book before her, notebook at hand, and chewing softly on her pen lid. Russell normally would have basked in this quiet moment, proud of his daughter and how hard working she was. Now, with the words of his drunken wife, he felt anger and disappointment.

She looked up at him, bright eyes turning to him, and Russell remembered how in her younger years, before he had begun drinking more than often, how this tiny smile would appear on his daughter's face when she saw him, non-too teeth-y, not quite a full smile, but one that reached her eyes regardless, that made them shine with an untold light. Russell convinced himself that it was because the guilt of dating that disgusting _filth_ of a man and not himself that had caused that light to fade.

He folded his arms around his chest and stared down at her. He asked quietly if it were true, his voice barely a whisper high. She avoided gaze at first, stammering out about her not knowing what he was talking about but he silenced her babbling with a fierce glare. She fell silent and defiantly stared down at her bed sheets. The ones, he remembered angrily, he had provided her: the ungrateful harlot who had single handedly ruined his marriage and much of his reputation.

He told her as much, saying how she was a horrible accident; that he and Judy didn't even want a second child, about how Frannie was all they wanted. How they had tried to work hard for her, but that she kept throwing it back in their faces: getting pregnant, wanting to continue to see that disgusting, horrid, sin-committing, _Jewish _boy, continuing to see that boy. How he regretted keeping her, saying that Judy should have just had an abortion; that if he could turn back time, knowing what he did now, he would have made her done it, beliefs about murder be damned. He would rather she had died in the womb rather than become such a failure.

She jumped right off her bed and fought back; saying horrible things to him. He didn't drink so much he didn't remember the next day; he didn't cause his wife to drink either. He most assuredly did not hit her so hard her makeup barely covered them; he was not the cause of his wife's and his disintegrating marriage, his bitch daughter was and he was tired of her.

That night was the first night he raised a hand to his daughter sober; that night he beat her until his knuckles were red from the effort. He kicked her in the stomach, wondering if he had done that earlier would it have made everything better again. That night, for the first time, he beat his daughter into complete silence. He simply kept hitting her until her cries and sobs died down.

That night he succeeded in beating his daughter into submission; leaving the room with her blood mingling with his on his fists. He went down stairs and took the gin bottle from his passed out wife's hands and drunk the rest before heading off to his bedroom. He did not regret it; after all he was only punishing her like any father would. He doubted that even Martin Luther King Jr. would refrain from violence had he had such a disgusting excuse of a daughter. Such filth to be considered family.

* * *

><p>Quinn didn't go to school the next day; she lay exactly where her father had left her, at the foot of her bed, in too much pain to even move. For a while she had been unconscious but now she was fully awake, pain stinging at every single reachable inch of her body. Her father had never beaten her so badly; even breathing hurt her so badly she worried about broken ribs. He had been sober too, a fact that made it all the worse; if he had been drunk and saying such hurtful things it might had been one thing but he wasn't which meant he meant every single word he said to her. That fact cut as deeply in her as the beating did.<p>

Sometime in the morning, closer to midday perhaps from the way the light shone from her bay window, her mother came into the room. She cried over, begging for forgiveness, talking about how she had to do it, that it was for Quinn's own good. Quinn merely turned from her mother, ignoring the pain that shot through her. She refused to speak with her or even acknowledge that she existed, staying in that position even after her mother left the room, fresh tears tracing their ways down.

Quinn pulled herself on the bed shortly after she heard her mother's car rev out of the driveway. Quinn didn't doubt where her mother headed and had she been in a better state she would have laughed humorlessly about how her mother begged for forgiveness before running off to the bar that had started the whole problem.

Quinn fished in her drawer for the aspirin she kept there for headaches. She doubted it would do much, not for the severity of her injuries, but she dry swallowed two of the pills anyway before setting the bottle back down and collapsing fully on the comfortable sheets of her bed. The softness of the mattress conformed to her body and lessoned the pain on her bruises than the floor did. For a while, she found herself drifting from consciousness to unconsciousness.

Her father came home early to check on her; apparently after a while her mother had called him, worried. He had gone to her room during one of her unconscious phases and immediately called the hospital. She found out later, that her parents had concocted some cock and bull story about how she must have fallen down the stairs while Judy had gone to the store to fetch her some soup (he already stated she had stayed home sick).

When asked about why she had been found on the bed if she had fallen, he explained how after he came home because his wife had called him crying about the accident, he had picked her up and brought her into her room so she could be more comfortable. The injuries did not correlate with his statement either but considering who he was the doctors didn't ask. They never did.

Quinn stayed in the hospital for the rest of the night; she was diagnosed with one broken rib, but luckily that was the extent of the injuries, the rest were bad bruises and cuts, but nothing of unmanageable proportions. Much to her chagrin and her doctors' reluctance, Quinn was released into her parents' care the very next day. Her mother allowed her to stay home from school and her father even offered to take the day off for her. Quinn refused both that and the help her mother tried to give in favor of limping up the stairs and into her silent room. It angered her considerably that her parents were just readily acting as if everything was normal; acted like Quinn's father hadn't beaten her bloody,

With difficulty she managed to change out of the baby-doll dress her mother had supplied her with at the hospital in favor of her cotton pajamas. She sat on her bed, ignoring the pain that shot through her body. In her hands sat her pale pink cell phone, screen blinking ostentatiously, words reading 'New Text Message – Noah Puckerman (Puck).' That was the newest but a cursory glance told her she also had one missed call; she checked her voicemail. Not to surprising, it was Puck's voice that filtered grainily through the small speaker. She figured it shouldn't have bothered her so much that no one except Puck had bothered to try and contact her anymore. It did though; she could have died and none of them would have bothered to find out.

She opened the message then to distract herself. It was simply stated: 'Why arent u here? Call me.' She thanked Berry for forcing Puck to use decent English while texting; she simply couldn't stand text speech. She debated momentarily; if she called Noah her mother might over hear which would mean her father knowing which would eventually no doubt entail another 'trip down the stairs.'

She settled with sending him a quick text message 'just got out of hospital, wont be going to school. Too sore.' She laid down on her back, careful not to jostle herself too much. Puck responded quickly enough: 'WTF? U okay?' she laughed at it a little, wincing when the resulting pain shot through her chest.

She sent him another message, explain it all; the story her father had given the doctors about the fall down the stairs anyway. She didn't know why she didn't tell him the truth; if anyone could have helped her in this moment of desperation, it would have been Puck. For a second, while the message sending alert still flashed across her screen, she considered hitting the stop button and telling him the truth but quick as a flash the alert changed to 'message sent' and it was too late; she lost her nerve.

His next message came quick as the first, asking her if she was okay and whether or not she would be at school tomorrow; she knew that had her parents not hated him he would probably be half way to her house by now. She sent him another one, detailing the extent of her injuries and telling him that yes, she would probably be at school tomorrow. He sent one more, telling her he had to go to Glee and that he loved her; she responded the same before putting her cell phone down on her bedside table and lying back down.

She fell into an uneasy sleep in which she drifted in and out of; she didn't know what on earth she was going to tell Puck in the morning, that they couldn't see each other anymore? She couldn't do that, not again but they couldn't be in the public about it either, how to say that without telling him the truth? She was quite sure if she did; her father would be the second Fabray to visit the hospital that week. She fell into nightmares shifting from an irate Puck to her father's fists beating down on her unrelenting in their fury.

The next day Quinn came to her decision; she would simply tell Puck that they had to fake a break up and then continue to date in secrete. At first he protested the course of action but after she confessed fears of her mother going to her father about it and him kicking her out for good he relented. They spent the rest of the time in their free period discussing how exactly they were going to pull it off convincingly.

* * *

><p>It was a Friday morning, cold and dreary in the Ohioan weather, when they decided to do it. Quinn got early access to the choir room by the janitors and Puck met her there. They had overheard Mr. Schuester give permission for Mercedes and Kurt to use the room for practice in the morning and saw their chance; one good breakup fight in front of the two and it would be around the glee club in half an hour; given an hour it would make its way through the school and by lunch, everyone will have heard.<p>

"I can't believe you Puck! How the hell could you have done that to me, to _us_? You told me you cared!" Quinn's angry voice laced into a perfect balance with sadness and disbelieve. Kurt and Mercedes stopped in their tracks; twin looks of shock marring their features. It was common knowledge that, after Kurt's near perfect relationship with Blaine, Puck and Quinn were the most stable of them all at the moment. They hadn't fought in forever, at least not like _this_.

"It was a drunken mistake Quinn! The girl didn't mean anything!" Puck's voice came through the door Kurt stood mere inches away. He was rooted to the spot though; neither wanting to overhear what was obviously a private conversation or lose any amount of juicy gossip he could hear. One glance at Mercedes and he put her in the same category as him, they stayed.

"Oh, really?" Quinn's voice was sarcastic now and Kurt could tell from the icy chill of it that something was about to drop. "Maybe like I didn't matter? Was I just a drunken conquest like she apparently is?" Kurt could hear Puck trying to stutter out a response, most likely a contradiction of sorts, but Quinn cut him off, intent on her rant. "What if you had gotten her pregnant? Been another baby Daddy, huh? Would she matter than, Puck? Would she? Can you answer that?" Silence followed, hanging around them like a thick blanket; suffocating Kurt and Mercedes as it echoed across the empty hallway.

"I didn't think so." The cool tone in Quinn's tone was frigid, all emotion frozen into a stiff blade that cut through the air. Kurt and Mercedes could hear Puck try to say something, anything really but it was seemingly too late for Quinn slammed the door open, tears threatening to fall from her bright eyes, anger and betrayal etched in every niche of her normally seamless face. Kurt and Mercedes scrambled hastily out of the way as she stormed past, hardly giving her a look. When they looked back into the room Puck had already walked out of the other room; leaving it bare and empty.

Kurt and Mercedes took one look at each other, shock evident on both their faces before quick as a flash, they both had their phones out, typing at the keys incessantly in an attempt of getting the story out first.

Puck hitched a left and maneuvered into the newly vacated hallway. Quinn stood a little ways off, arms perched on her hips; a little smile gracing her lips as he approached. He could clearly see the bruises, the ones that scattered her arms that he wondered if were from her trying to stop the fall; they looked a lot like defensive wounds to him.

He wrapped his arms around her, careful to avoid the really bad spots, and brought her lips to his. She giggled slightly into the kiss and he pressed her against him harder. They broke apart too soon for him though, Quinn's eyes darting to see if anyone saw them. She kissed him once more, chaste this time before pulling away; darting through the hallway and out into the parking lot. Puck watched her go, ugly purple bruises coating over her beautiful pale skin; a sinking feeling half-remembered remembered from long ago fills him. He can't remember exactly what it was, but_ something_ was wrong, and he wanted to know.

* * *

><p>It was almost a year later, almost graduation day, when Puck found out what that wrongness was. It was a quite night at his house; his mother was out working an extra shift and his sister was spending the night at her friend's house, so he was by himself, watching a mindless wrestling T.V. show, digging into some left over Chinese food when his doorbell rang. He slowly trudged to the door, head craned back slightly to see the rest of match. He winces slightly but lets out a little whoop when the guy hit the other with a chair eagerly supplied by an over-zealous fan. He wrenches the door open, about to scowl at whoever was there for interrupting him during his 'Puck-time'. That was until he realized that it was a sobbing Quinn Fabray, blood flowing from an ugly gash that slit down the side of her face.<p>

He led her in quickly, setting her gently on the coach before running to get the emergency kit his mother kept in the kitchen cabinet. He cleaned the cut before deftly applying gauze, nimble fingers gently pressing on the medical tape to get it to stay in place. He could see the question in her eyes but he refused to explain as to how he got so good at dressing wounds, merely pressing a light kiss to the gauze instead.

He didn't press her for the information and instead they found themselves curled onto the couch together as he changed the channel to some cheesy Disney movie Quinn had a weakness for. They sat like that for maybe an hour or so before Quinn sat up, tear stained face pointed at the floor and mouth set into a thin, determined line. He sat up as well, and waited patiently. Another five minutes passed before Quinn got the courage to speak:

"It was my father." Four simple words, spoken in a single breath, a warm whisper that carried along the artificial breeze that flowed through the house but with them Quinn shattered; tears poured down her face anew, arms and shoulders shaking uncontrollably as Puck tried in vain to comfort her. The words were like a dagger, wrenching and pulling at his gut until the pain was most unbearable.

"What? Is this – was this the first time?" his voice matched hers, uncharacteristically quiet, although it floated around them, through the empty house; he had pressed mute before Quinn spoke. He hated to ask the question; doing so made the dagger jab harder but he had to know. Slowly, almost unperceptively, Quinn's honey blonde head moved up and down; the dagger was ripped out suddenly and Puck let out a quiet, imperceptive growl.

"What happened?" his voice was still quiet, but the thinly reined anger was laced through and the whisper was menacing rather than comforting and Quinn shuddered. The tight coil of anger in him grew worse as Quinn explained to him in as much detail as she could remember and he could stomach, what had happened:

Quinn rushed into her room, face flushing in anger and embarrassment. Her mother, having gone straight back to the bottle since Quinn's brief stint in the local hospital, was drunker than ever and hadn't even made it to her bedroom with her new 'friend' and had settled for the couch in the living room. Quinn wondered briefly if her mother would be done before her father came home – she hadn't been the last time and the fight was horrendous – before deciding she really didn't care anymore and turning her music as loud as possible to drown out the drunken giggles.

She didn't hear her father come in half an hour later, drunk and furious at catching his wife vigorously riding some other man on their couch. Once the man spotted him he ran out quickly, pants barely hanging onto his hips as he did so, leaving Russell with his drunken wife. He screamed at her angrily as she stared drunkenly at him as if she was surprised he was there and Quinn noticed that, turning the music down low not so much to hear the fighting but more so her father wouldn't notice.

She could hear the sounds of her father's fists slamming into her mother and winced. She may not care for her mother now, but hearing that horrid sound caused flashbacks and no one deserved that kind of treatment. It lasted a few terse minutes before her mother's broken sobs were the only sound in the house; she thought maybe her father was leaving again but that quickly shot out the window when she realized the footsteps were getting louder instead of quieter. She prayed that he was going into his room.

She wasn't that lucky.

As he got closer, she quickly darted for her backpack, pulling out a notebook and pencil unknowingly dropping her phone in the process. She had just sat back onto the bed, notebook open over her knees and pencil poised as if to write when her father barged through the door. One look at Russell Fabray and she could tell just how messed up her father truly was at the moment; his normally impeccable appearance was in all sorts of disarray, his button up shirt was half untucked, one flap hanging out over his belt, his traditionally perfectly combed hair was ruffled, locks of hair sticking up in various places, his clear blue eyes were bloodshot, but the most overpowering factor was the strong scent of alcohol that pervaded her room upon his entrance.

He demanded to know what she was doing, words slurring so horribly that she had to take a few moments to truly decipher what he had said. She told him it was a History report on the crusades; he smiled and wobbled drunkenly over towards her. She winced a little as his hand came down to softly stroke her hair but if he noticed he paid no heed to it. He whispered that he loved her and that she was nothing like her 'slut' mother; she shuddered a little bit and hated herself for not even being able to take her father telling her he loved her without being frightened.

All was going well and her father was on his way out when he stopped to pick something up. With a frightened jolt she realized that in his hand was her little slider cellphone; a new message of some sort blinking off on the display. She sent a silent prayer that it was Kurt or maybe Mercedes who had texted her, anyone would do but Puck. Her father's face seemed to cloud but Quinn couldn't tell whether it was anger or confusion; he pressed the center button, his bloodshot eyes tracing over the dark words.

His hand clenched into a fist around the phone when he was done, anger coursing through his veins, mingling with the alcohol to create a deadly poison. He turned to his daughter, his precious, beautiful, elegant daughter. He traced her face, searching its crevices, the upturn of her nose, the rosy color that resided artificially enhanced on her cheeks, the slightly rounded chin, to the almond shaped eyes of an almost indiscernible color, sometimes the deepest of blues, sometimes the brightest of greens, sometimes the lightest of browns, sometimes a perfect mixture of the three. This woman was beautiful, like a goddess or an angel; once he could have looked at her with pride, knowing that it was his daughter; his wonder, his pride.

He couldn't though; not now. He saw a beautiful woman, anyone could really, but he no longer saw _his_ daughter. The whore that was his wife was written in every corner of her face now. The pale skin that shone with the lightest of pinks on her cheeks, the round but still somehow sharp shape of her face, the high cheek bones that spoke of French heritage, all of it was his wife's. He could no longer see the shape of her eyes that mirrored his, the colors of her eyes, the mixture of his and his wife's, her nose; he no longer saw the resemblance. He could no longer call her his.

The words were barely above a whisper; Quinn could almost pretend she didn't hear them, if they weren't reverberating through her head. '_Get out. You're not my daughter; I don't know who you are anymore.' _They cut into her like the sharpest of knives; she whispered his name eyes filling with tears she never knew she would ever shed for him –she wanted to say it didn't hurt, that they didn't cut or sting more than any of the injuries he'd given her, but they did she still loved him and it hurt that he no longer did – she whispered his name.

He couldn't stand it; looking into the tear filled eyes of this woman, of his darling baby girl. The alcohol wasn't working now – the pain it worked so well to block was coming to the surface, the hatred of his whore wife, hatred of his daughter for not staying under his control, and the hatred for himself, the kind that burned through his veins, that clouded his mind with its poison – it was all coming through now and he couldn't handle it.

He blamed her, the girl that was but wasn't his daughter, and sought to pour all the hatred into anger directed at her. He was victorious of his emotions and in drunken hazed mind he sought the most rudimentary form of retaliation he could think of; he grabbed a porcelain figurine on Quinn's bookshelf, it was broken in two from a clumsy toss of a shoe earlier and the halves were sharp. Russell barely winced as it cut into his skin and with barely a second thought, he threw it at Quinn. The figurine made its mark; blood ran down the side of Quinn's face as she gasped at the sudden pain.

Russell repeated his words shakily, slurred somewhat from the alcohol and from the blood that ran down and the deep wound that marred the side of his daughter's face. He left the room, and Quinn could hear him screaming at his wife to stop her 'goddamned bitching'. The tears continued to track down as Quinn quickly grabbed her discarded phone, purse and ran out the home. The tears continued down as she got into her car, barely registering that she was shoeless, the grass tickling the bottoms of her feet as she ran across it.

She didn't think; she just drove. She got weird looks and she wondered vaguely, with some amusement of near hysterics, how she would have looked to the passerby, tears streaming down, mingling with the ever flowing blood. It didn't matter that one of them had their phone out, eyes never leaving her form, as she hit the gas as soon as the light was green and continued on. She didn't realize where she was headed until she was there, the light from Puck's living room beckoning her.

She knocked, half dazed, and waited for whomever to answer the door. Puck did and she could see the emotions that were always on display – something she normally treasured – flash across his face, irritation quickly dispelled into confusion and then worry as he took in her haggard appearance. He got his senses and quickly moved aside for her. He led her into the living room, careful to only administer the softest, gentlest of touches to direct her, before leaving and coming back with a first aid kit. He was gentle, quick, and nimble while dressing the wound, even pressing a gentle kiss to it when he was done. In more reasonable times, she would have giggled at the sweetness of it but she was tired and scared, emotionally drained and confused as to why he was so good at that, knowing just where to put the pressure that the blood would stop but that it wouldn't hurt. It was worrying.

That's how she got here, telling all these things to a steadily angrier Puck. At the end of her explanation he merely growled a question out, if this was the first time. Quinn was shaking when she told him no; the murderous look that crossed Puck's face was frightening. Puck himself wanted to murder her father; that much he had told her. Inside was so much worse though; he didn't want to just kill Russell Fabray; he wanted to destroy him; to make him feel pain that would be sevenfold to all of Quinn's pain combined. He wanted to inflict such pain that even if Russell survived, he would be too s scared to leave the house, that's how deep the scars would carve themselves in.

Puck didn't realize he had started to cry until the tears had fallen onto his clenched hands; but after they started, he couldn't stop them. He cried for Quinn, this wonderful, beautiful angel that the world had spurned, and he cried for himself and his family for the memories of his stepfather that were reforming and how his body ached from phantom pains, as if the beatings were done yesterday. He felt Quinn hug him, her slender arms sliding around him as her warmth enveloped him, a comforting presence.

He could feel himself calming, his tears falling slowing, breath evening, pulse slowing to an even beat. A sense of guilt fell over him as he realized Quinn, who had needed the comforting, was worrying about him, all because he couldn't take a few stupid memories without dissolving into tears.

He maneuvered them so that he could be the one to wrap his arms around Quinn, tucking her head under his chin, gently rubbing her back. He knew she had questions about his behavior and he planned to answer them, but for now they sat quietly; Puck's warm constant embrace comforting Quinn as Puck himself thought of how exactly to tell her about the cause of his breakdown. More exact, he was trying to find the courage to tell her; his mother had never forbade him from telling anyone, she even encouraged it when he was younger, but he had never told a soul, not even his best friend of forever, Finn. It had always been too private, something to keep within the family. It figures the first person he would tell was the one woman he could see spending the rest of his life with.

"I used to get beat too." The words were simple, a mere statement, Puck could have been talking about the weather for as much emotion he had put in to it. Quinn stared up at him, shock and confusion echoing through her eyes. Puck absentmindedly ran his fingers through her hair.

"I'm not saying it to make you think you're 'not alone' or some other lifetime movie moral bullshit. Just that you told me all the shit your drunk parents put you through, so I thought I'd repay the favor. I've never told anyone about it before so it's kind of a big deal." Quinn nodded slightly and squeezed his hand encouragingly. She wanted him to know that, no matter what, she wouldn't leave him.

Puck cleared his throat loudly before beginning: "You already know that my real father left us when I was very young, I don't even really remember him. My mom got pretty heavily involved with another guy almost immediately after. He moved in and he was basically a second father to me. For a while everything was cool but….." he paused for breath, "the first time I saw real-live violence was when my stepfather came home really drunk and fucked my mom up pretty good. It was right in the dining room in front of me and my sister. She was just a toddler and by the end of it she was screaming and crying." Puck trailed off momentarily, struggling to find the right words, this whole thing was harder than he thought it would be.

"After that though, everything was slowly turning back to normal. He was extremely apologetic about it and swore off the bottle. It worked for a while too, until he lost his job. Then he was drunk every night, began to beat me as well as my mom, gave me my first broken bone. Sis got spared because she was so little at the time." He could see the question in her eyes, and he smiled bitterly as he went to answer it.

"Mom stayed because, occasionally, he would be the man she fell in love with, the man who had become a father to me. He wouldn't drink, go out for hours to try and find a job, sometimes he would, and he would keep for a while until he caved and had more to drink. He had to leave several jobs for 'disorderly conduct'. He would go back to beating and my mom would go back to praying. It was a shitty time."

Quinn picked up her courage in the lull in conversation: "When – how –how did your mother find the courage to leave?" her voice was quiet and she looked at her hands rather than Puck when she asked.

"He got into drugs. I guess when she found out he was using her children's support checks for smack it was the end. She packed us up in the middle of the night when he was passed out from drugs and booze on the couch and my uncle drove us here. She rented a hotel room for a few weeks until she scrounged up a job and found a house for us to live in. We've been here ever since and viola." He shrugged his arms out over-dramatically gesturing wildly around the room, hoping the theatrics would incite a laugh from her. It did and, years later even, he swore it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

"What am I going to do, Puck. I – I can't go back there, but I have nowhere to go." Quinn was close to tears again and Puck tightened his hold on her. He had been planning on doing this for a while, was going to make a big deal out of it because Kurt said women loved it, but he figured now was better than never.

"Stay here." Quinn's eyes shot up at him and she made to shake her head no. The last time she had stayed, she had been excessively pregnant and she didn't think his mother had been all too friendly with her. "Marry me." Her jaw dropped.

Puck dropped to his knee; her eyes swam with tears of a much different sort. "Lucy Quinn Fabray, I've loved you for forever. I know I'm not the best man out there and I knocked you up last year, but I was there for you then and I will be forever, if you'd give me the honor of being my superhot, amazingly sexy wife." She laughed at the grin he cocked and nodded, the tears flowing free now as he met her for a fierce kiss.

They didn't know what the future would hold, the hardships or the pleasures but at the moment, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered at that moment but them. The feel of Puck's body against hers, the love that seemed to radiate from him, nothing else but that mattered; Quinn hoped nothing would again.

* * *

><p>The wedding itself was nothing special, a small little affair at the local church. They had invited all their friends, even Rachel although Kurt and Blaine had explained rather nervously that she was having family problems that needed to be addressed, and it had been a wonderfully pleasant day. Quinn had radiated beauty in the simple white gown Puck's mother had helped her pick out.<p>

They went to college after that, Puck following her in the career of teaching before meeting up with Santana and Brittany and joining forces with Mr. Schuester and them to help teach the horribly dull students that now ran McKinley (except for the case of the Berry twins but that is a story of a different sort) to the ground. It was the simple life; Quinn had gotten her beautiful, simple white picket fence house even though it wasn't with the man her fantasies had originated with, but someone better.

Her mother had tried to contact her once, bleary eyed and sorrowful, wailing apologies, practically on her knees begging for forgiveness. Quinn had asked one simple question, whether or not she was still with her father. When her mother had stammered out that her father was better now, despite the fact that Quinn could clearly see two mirror bruises on either side of her mother's body that looked alarmingly like finger mark, Quinn had calmly asked her to leave before shutting the door and breaking down. Puck had found her like that and they had spent the entire night watching old Disney movies until she felt better.

Their little family wasn't truly complete until, almost ten years into their marriage, Quinn had informed Puck, giant smile plastered on her face and excitement shining through her eyes, that she was pregnant. Puck had gone all out, getting Kurt to help him, to decorate his daughter's room. When Abigail Faith Puckerman had entered the world, it was to two smiling parents ready for her.

They had their ups and downs throughout the years, but they managed to stay together, loving each other for their faults and weaknesses, cherishing each other's companionship. They fought a lot, but that was simply for the peculiar fact that they were exact opposites. They never lasted long, before either caved and sought each other's company.

They had come to each other broken, no trust in the world, hatred for the happiness they sought and never received, envious for the happiness others exploited. They had healed each other, through the times. They never forgot, not the pain of the unwarranted hatred they had gotten, the confusion of not feeling good enough, the overwhelming pressure of the failure they felt every time the pain began again, but they had overcame it.

They had been two separate concrete angels, two children the world had turned their backs to in favor of things they had understood more, not wanting to dwell on the darkness of the world. They came together to become something more than what the world expected them to be, their scars were there, they always were, but they weren't_ them. _At the end of the day, that's all that mattered.

* * *

><p>The ending is kind of a cop-out but I couldn't really think of anything else to end it. I used the child abuse because I needed a way to get pity for Quinn and major pity, I hope I succeeded and I'm sorry that it seemed so extreme. I did give her the happiest ending I could, but I know it was bad. I still hoped you enjoyed it, please review, and all that. I actually do need feed back on this because it's the first time I tried something this extreme. Also, you know, anything you want to read about too. Until next time.<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry for not updating in a while but I've had a lot going on. Well I hope you all enjoyed the last one because I really did. Here goes...

Title: Rollercoaster

Summary: Short drabble about the various feelings Finn has since Rachel left and returned.

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><p>Gone. Moved away. Never coming back. Gone. The words jumbled around in his head like a difficult Algebra II problem. He heard them alright, everyone was telling him that, Mr. Schuester, solemn, had told them Rachel was gone, Quinn had told him, when he slipped up and looked for her in the hallway, Kurt in a surprising rant had lectured him on letting her slip away, and the ghost of Rachel, slipping in through his subconscious, repeating the words of that day; when she explained to them her parents were making her move.<p>

He broke it off with Quinn; he couldn't bear to be with her anymore. He knew it hurt her, he could see it in her hazel eyes, feel it in the sting of the slap she supplied him with, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He couldn't really bring himself to care about anything at that time, it was dark and lonely and he could remember the nights he went to bed crying a little over a picture of a girl he'd never see again.

He grew sick of the pity they gave, the glee clubbers shooting sad, understanding looks at him, so he stopped mopping, made a move on in his life. He got his grades up through the help of Kurt, although he hadn't been as good as Rachel had been, and managed to get to Ohio State with a music and football scholarship. He'd called Rachel a few times then with a number supplied by Kurt, and they had quick nonsensical conversations that never seemed long enough.

She was distant and he could remember hearing odd noises in the background, baby cries that she swore were from the T.V. or babysitting, baby toys clashing, all sorts of noises. Sometimes he felt she had something to say, something important but she never did. He never did either, always ending their conversations with a 'talk to you later' or 'bye' rather than an 'I love you' that always seemed threatening to pour forth from him.

He could remember their last conversation and looking back blamed himself for it ending, perhaps if he hadn't tried to move on and told her he had gotten a girlfriend, a nice short brunette that had reminded him of her. Perhaps if he hadn't told her, she wouldn't have told him the 'important thing' she wanted to tell him was an audition at a Broadway show. Perhaps he could have met his children at two years of age instead of fifteen.

He thought back of meeting them, the shock of his tiny daughter Natalie singing her heart out on a song decades old, and of his awkwardly tall son Blaine, carrying on, barely a trail behind Natalie, like all those years ago in glee. They'd ran right passed him, and he knew. He thought it sounded stupid and if he'd ever told Puck he would surely agree, but he knew who they were.

Seeing Rachel again, after all these years, he'd willed for the anger of such betrayal to form, but all he felt was sorrow; sorrow and confusion and love, love for this tiny dancer that was still as beautiful as the day she'd left. Holding her in his arms again, whispering that he loved her, working out all the kinks to try their hands at a relationship again, that's he felt, love. A burning fire that started as a roar, nearly burning them if they stepped to close, that slowly simmered to a glowing blaze, warming them and encouraging them closer.

Now, a sleeping, _pregnant_ wife by his side, two wonderful children in rooms of either side of him, one with his girlfriend that would no doubt rock his semi-peaceful life, Finn felt excitement. Excitement to try his hand at more children, being there for them through all of it, excitement of the simple day by day action of calling Rachel his wife that had never worn off, and excitement for the crazy drama that surrounded his life since his children were brought in.

Finn had been on a roller coaster ride since he'd met Rachel, this crazy, tiny girl with the biggest voice he'd ever heard. It had heartbreak, love, sadness, happiness, grief, anger, laughter; he'd experienced it all. And he was about to experience so much more, and the excitement rose inside him as his wife curled into him, searching for warmth he was willing to give. As he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in the hair that always managed to smell like strawberries, the excitement curled in him, a comfort in his chest that whispered of what was to come.

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><p>Very short and written pretty quickly, but not very bad... right? Please review for feedback, and if you have any suggestions feel free to ask them.<p> 


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